


Riddles of Recession

by JieBee



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Adventure, All other characters are of equal relevance, Drama, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Mild to Moderate Violence, MiniCat as Protagonists, More tags in the future, Mystery, Pining and Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Tragedy, Triggers and Warnings posted on their respective chapters, Typical BBS Humor, little to no romance in the first few chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-11-28 12:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18208160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JieBee/pseuds/JieBee
Summary: Strangers, acquaintances, conventions, business meetings, travels in and out of country… bleeding his connections dry over the years. In an endless and grueling search of a game that would get the old gang back together, Craig’s distress signal finally receives a response that seemed almost inevitable... one that would twist fate more than his entire life ever bargained for.





	1. The Results Are In! [Prologue]

Craig has been silently hurting over the recent years of his life as a Youtuber. Or more accurately, the social world he fell into on the platform. He used to scoff at the idea of the ‘Banana Bus Squad’ (an unofficial group name given to them by their fans.) He still does, but he knows he can’t deny how much it warms his heart. But time snuffed out their chances to hang out with each other along with that heat, it was only a matter of time before their colors greyed.

It’s not like they fell out. And just like him, everyone that belonged to that ~~pretend~~ squad has their own arrays of ambitions, rarely ever striking adjacent with one another. Simply put, everyone just got too busy with their own lives. Sometimes it seems like a miracle, whenever Craig manages to get some of his old pals to play silly “family friendly” card games with him. Not only that, there’s a blatant line that separates his chances of hanging out with them: Fortnite. Almost everyone’s cup of tea, and just short luck to be aware that he was the odd one out. And with a passion, his persona glued him in limbo of selling himself out for his friends, or exchanging long-lost time for his integrity.

“Dude, this keyboard is fucking gay,” a cheeky voice echoed in his translucent gaze as he tacked on the device that perpetually spun rainbows of soft.

~~_**This is it.** _ ~~

Craig’s final battle against the globe as he pressed hard on the fat button before his face slammed the device, the confused machine addictively barraging letters until the man crashed down on the floor. Strangers, acquaintances, conventions, business meetings, travels in and out of country… bleeding his connections dry and dry over the years. There was a little wisp in his misery's black conscious that droned back to that memory. Look where it got me, he thought.

 _'No more,'_ succumbed the Brit into the darkness.

 

* * *

 

**"Fucking Christ!"**

Steam sizzled from the black water that accented Craig's pale hand, spasming against the scald while he cursed his way for a remedy. Weirdly enough, while it made the pain worse (not to mention being the root of the cause,) his sleep deprivation acted like an anesthetic that soon dulled out the pain before the warm water.

"God that  _woke_ me up," yelled the man, with a shrill fuck to his throat until his pitch descends down with coarse laughter. "LukeWarm... MiniCool. Heh, fun times."

In his short fit of frenzy that would surely nope the fuck out of his friends ( ~~if they ever saw him~~ ), the byproduct of an incident born from an unwritten history had already turned invisible. He would've surprised himself if he hadn't been in countless disasters, not that knowing this made him comfortable. It was hard to live with pain all over his body 24/7, it was almost mandatory for him to pick up on first aid and medical techniques he stole from watching those who patched him up. He knew it was gonna be handy for himself; he just hopes he'll never have to use this skill to a friend.

 _'Friend,'_ his mouth spoke on its own. Soon as it suffused, intrusive thoughts poisoned his mind as the Brit steeled his focus on the camera staring at him and grinned. Stood up, he went about on his routine as a persona, known as that  _'chip, chip cheerio'_ motherfucker who knows just how to make everyone deaf bit by bit. Also known as the man who needs the world to literally smash his body before he even thinks of giving up his ambitions. A man for the people.

But that man is Mini Ladd. And the man known as Craig Thompson is always present behind that entity.

 

Mini stretched his eyes wide against the disbelief of John getting first place on a Mario Kart race. Kryoz, who has only played the game for like, what? A week?

"Holy-" The victor cucked the lad's gasp.

"Took me a week to get first. Hey guys, let's all look at Mini here," his unapologetic snorts leaking through the mic. That gained the server some  _ooh's_  as Mini let out a defeated sound.

"I'm sad," he certainly didn't try to hide the attempt at playing cute. Hysteric cackles popped on his ears.

"If it makes you feel any better, I've been sucking this game for like-" then twisted the laughter into gibberish rage as the crowd of manchildren hideously bawled at their buddy's signature tantrum.

"Reason why I don't miss this game," BigJigglyPanda ended on a note he had before the fit.

Their banter waved through the courses in organic fashion, their other pal fourzer0seven trying to contest Mini on who can destroy people's ears more, none of these Craig was aware of. As his friends raced each other with another race of curses, the Brit was stuck in the haze from last night. Or this early morning, rather. More than half a day and still no response. Not long after that, he was writing on a notebook in his mind.

"Maybe I shouldn't have," he trailed, his tired breath accidentally going through the mic.

"...aig?" A voice muffled.

It's not an exaggeration to say he's made at least tens of thousands of discussions for a game that doesn't  _fucking exist_. That toll easily reminded him how _fucking stupid_ he is.

 _'I tried to make my own game, yeah like that would fucking work,'_  his mind scoffed. _'I know jack shit about coding and all that stuff.'_

He tried. He really did. Juggling the cold snap of the Big Red Beast, charities, reality, and this  _delusion -_ he's actually amazed at himself for surviving all of that. He tried with his fans, but as soon as he realized the possibility of causing an unprofessional scandal... the list goes on. There's no other way of looking at it; he's at a dead end. Yet here he was, the cause of why this Mario Kart session is on record in the first place.

 **"CRAIG. FUCKING. CRAIG!"** Sonic blared the Brit's ears back to reality, freaking out while a little soul called to him.

"You okay there, Mini?" Clear concern from the youngster's voice, a boy Craig had encouraged to fully take on the path of a Youtuber. The Nogla to Jaren.

"A... uh, different kind of fuck there, mate," heaved the shaking voice of Metal Mario, the winner of the most recent race. The voice wasn't talking about John's cuss. Craig had been letting out expletives the whole time he mused.

"Uhh, yes?"

"Don't 'uhh, yes' me, like a stereotypical slut, you bowl-pin fucker. I've been shouting at you for three fucking courses when you all of a sudden turned deaf!"

"Because, dear John, you  _are_ turning me deaf," the Brit jeered, earning himself a snort. "And don't speak to me or my son ever again!"

"You stopped bitching about how luck based this game is," there was a subtle difference in the way the Canadian spoke. "Actually, you stopped bitching at all. And if that doesn't spell out 'something's wrong,' then what?" Smii7y wasn't being their typical Meme Cow, Craig noticed.

~~_**Shit.** _ ~~

There's no way he'll let his friends grow suspicious of him now, not after years of looking bright and squeaky clean, _not after he's finally given up_.

"Craig," Anthony deflated, "if there  _is_  something wrong, you can always tell us man."

~~_**No, no, no, no, no.**_ ~~

"I can't believe I'm being bullied right now," Mini retorted, "I just need a bit o' sleep." Craig certainly didn't lie.

"That's what I always say when I have problems- oh wait. I always have problems," racketing John a varied round of 'too real' chuckle points.

"Holy shit, insomniacs unite!" Roared Smii7y.

"Ha ha yeah man."

 _Thank god I slithered out somehow,_ Craig thought to himself. _So what was it I was giving up on, again..? Fuck, I forgot._

 _ ** ~~A game that would get the boys back together~~** , _his shoulder slouched as he fell on the bed. The last of his solace-  _ **NO.**_

**_Get yourself together, Craig! Get up. Get up. Get. Up! Cease yourself of these thoughts this INSTANT._ **

_It felt nice, the way they treated me._

"FUCKING CRAIG!"

"You okay there, Mini?"

"If that doesn't spell out 'something's wrong,' then what?"

"If there _is_ something wrong, you can always tell us man."

 _Fucks aside, these guys still care about me. When did I stop knowing that?_ Craig whispered to himself, his ears flushed from relishing over this reminder. Where's the man for the people now, when he's on his bed raving their sweet cloud nines over and over? Turns out he's just as selfish as the next guy.

~~_Can they speak for the rest of the guys, though?_ ~~

~~~~_That's right. My bed isn't the last source of comfort in my life!_ The Brit smiled, genuinely for once, amidst the underlying guilt tugging on his neck. He knows he'll lose the cover eventually, but he doesn't plan on blowing it over anytime soon. For the meantime, at least - Craig can now rest his case on this impossible circus.

 

* * *

 

"Get off my computer this fucking instant, pussy," Spatted the tall man all over the recording room as Scotty got evicted from the spinning Herman Miller. On Silly Symphony Wings more like, what with the way the spunky guest cheered as he twirled with Tyler towards the door.

"I'm not some Disney ride, cocksucker."

"Ride and suck? You?" Scotty raised a brow as the big lug pushed him out of the door before he could hear a compliment he would never ever want to hear from his friend. Tried and failed. Yelled the venom through the door.

"Oh, baby, Disney can't even compare to riding you!" The rest of his family heard that. Well they're just dogs, thank fuck they're too dumb. Still, he regrets ever opening his mouth to Scotty. Tyler had to throw him out of the room, clearly they didn't have the same job. He wasn't even sure why his friend decided to crash his house in the first place. Guy just showed up on the front, saying 'hey, let's drink!' without even a notice. Went inside like he claimed the house. Now there he was, tipsy as fuck after downing bottles of beer, scotch- whatever alcohol he could get his hands on in the fridge.

"Gonna make him pay double for this," Tyler grumbled, hovering over the table pressed with loose hands. It took him a second to bat an eye on the screen. It's a game of Mario Kart.

"What the fuck, Scott? Playing some Mario Kart without me?" the man yelled, furrowing his brows.

"Yeah. Mini wanted to, so why not?" Tyler winced at how his friend even managed to say that without slurring. Jesus, Scott. At least act the hammered part.

"Craig? That bitch!" He growled, scheming a sneaky revenge on his colored European loser of a friend before static muffled over the air.

"..AIG," the noise cracked. Wasn't too hard to figure that one out.

"CRAIG, YOU MOTHERFUCKER. ANSWER ME OR I'll TELL THE WHOLE WORLD HOW YOU SHAT YOUR PANTS WHEN YOU GOT WASTED BACK IN PA..." Tyler was dying. He knows that didn't happen, but...

"SECOND COURSE, WE'RE LOSING OUR ONE AND ONLY BRITISH BITCH, GUYS."

Geared and ready to play Metal Mario, Tyler made his boost for the finish line.

_Man, this brings backs memories. Can't wait to shit on that sorry ass's face for not inviting me._

_Then again, this was partly my fault_ , squeaked a voice somewhere in the big man's head. He's been into Fortnite more than he planned to. It's not his fault the other developers suck ass right now. But because of it, their British friend has been slowly drifting away from them. He ached at the thought, a crippling burn of dawn at the purpose of this session. The fact that nearly everyone is playing Fortnite is so stark that Craig probably has started to recognize everyone's schedules. His friend was always good on picking up on these patterns, even if their 'schedules' never really were consistent. His luggage sucks ass though, just like its owner.

The big man still grumbles at the fact that he wasn't invited. He wouldn't mind skipping a planned recording for this! He loves more than anything in the world to shit on the lad and put his egotistical ass back in his place, now that he's improving.

 _'Oh, the look on his face,'_ a devil in his head grinned. So Tyler decided to keep quiet for the whole race until the end.

 _I miss you, you bitch_ , he whined, suppressing that very line from leaking through the mic. It hasn't been that long since they last met, Craig and Tyler. In the flesh, actually. Sure, they were on different teams in Mr. Beast's Battle Royal. Neither of them won too, and he barely remembers duking it out with the younger man (even though they were both looking forward to it.) Then again, there's that shower scandal... well, no regrets. Was hilarious as fuck. But this?

Glassy eyed, it was late when Tyler noticed something odd. He'd laugh his gut out because of John's fucking bullshit, but he never understood the context. Their British friend, silent but his cart moving. No way. Craig has never pulled a Brian before. They might not have played much ( ~~barely~~ ) in the past year, but he at least knows for sure that Craig would never turn into a sweaty Irishman.

_Why isn't he complaining?_

There was no end to John's relentless screaming at Craig, it was truly challenging for Tyler not to scream back at the annoying fucker.

_Should I speak? Fuck, what's going on man? Maybe someone else is- wait no. John is playing..._

**"CRAIG. FUCKING. CRAIG!"**

 ...

Outsmarted. Craig doesn't even know Tyler's playing as Scotty, he even pretended to be him when he spoke. But the spoils of war will never be reaped. The lad went out before the fourth of the several more courses even started, leaving everyone behind with a breath of defeat. It's not like they don't understand, though. Lack of sleep is hard to argue with, they've all been there. Craig definitely sounded like he could use some good rest. His departure did a number on everyone's enthusiasm, leaving one by one until all that ever remained of their session was a bad taste.

_Did the idiot burn himself out again? He's growing weaker by the minute, and he responds to this with even more damage to his health? World's biggest idiot much?_

_Someone needs to stop that moron before he gets himself killed,_ the tall man's face pruned at the last word.

_Craig... what aren't you telling me? What aren't you telling us?_

 

A buzz.

"Hey, big boy!"

 

"What? It's twelve in the fucking midnight." A gift from a nocturnal fan, Craig wondered. Quite a number of times he's received those, considering only a few fans know of his location.

When he stepped out towards the moist, lush grass of Oregon, where the man's new home stood... as the Brit scanned the area for signs of an uninvited guest, there laid an oddity in his periphery. A box- a shoe box? As soon as he picked it up, countless images flashed through his head like a film of the old days. Each image played way too fast for any viewer to understand, yet every second felt unbelievably slow to Craig while he was suddenly plunged into this nostalgic mania.

And somewhere on the other side of the country, an identical box awaits to be opened.

 

 _"What the fuck?"_ Cursed two men in unison the very second they noticed a faint label etched on the lid.

 

_Your order has arrived._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this is the first ever fiction I decided to write/post online. Please be kind to me. xP I'm not sure how often I can update this, or if I would even continue updating this at all.  
> I hope you all enjoyed, thank you so much for reading! :D


	2. The Results Are In! [1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: vomit, blood and other nasty elements.

Three dogs circled the mysterious box that laid untouched on the floor, something new for their noses to hungrily sniff at.

"The fuck is..." his mouth hanged before turning to the back of a man who looked like the devil glued to his toilet. Tyler wasn't sure if he should approach him, but figured he didn't have a choice. Even without seeing his face, his friend looked horrible.

"Scotty, please don't throw up on my floor," pleaded the man, big hands tapping gently on sunken shoulders. His eyes counted on the trap of empty bottles scattered across the floor, still a few ones that have a drink's worth.

_One, two, three-- holy shit, this bitch wiped out my entire-_

"Shit, it fucking hurts."

"Alright, enough of that, man." Tyler wanted to be angry at the man for a number of reasons, and raiding all of his drinks ranks high on that list. He doesn't really want to, though-- his friend looked too pitiful. But there is one in particular he needed to address, and that one comes at the top.

"Dude, did you open the door?"

"Yeh," Scotty's head still lowered. His temples were throbbing with melting heat.

"At a time like this? _In_ the state that you're in?" His voice raised. The only response he got was a groan.

" **Scott** ," the man in question now looking at him amidst the wrenching pain.

"If that person happened to be some shitty fucker or something, we would've been dead!"

"But we're nut!"

"That's not the point!" The dogs started to bark, the dalmatian scuttling behind the giant's legs.

"Shut the fuck up, you noisy shits," was what Tyler wanted to scream, but instead found his attention stolen by the anxious critter now next to him.

"Kino?" The big man hummed as he leveled himself to the animal, caressing its worries away hopefully with success.

"Keeno lukes like he just gut thrown in the freezer."

"... I don't feel good about this," Tyler spoke, icy blue glare shot at the man next to him.

" _What?_ Aim sorry, man! I maid sure to luke ouch side, no buddy wuss there," reasoned the guest who totally sounded sincere in his apology.

"Because that's always what happens before some bastard fucks your life over!"

"Yeh, a bucks ken do things like that! What is this, mine crap?"

The big man growled with anger at the ungrateful drunk behind him as he walked towards the mystery. Gruesome scenarios were already running through his mind as he hovered by the box his two other dogs loved barking at.

"Let's just get this over with!"

Moving by emotions, Tyler picks the packaging tape out of the box with long nails in rushed fashion, immediately regretting it as he couldn't help but think of the demon that would come out of this box to devour him. The lid popped halfway like a gate, finally allowing the recipient to peer into its contents.

"Oh."

"What is it?"

"... well it's not a demon."

"Ty, you're making me ankle shoes."

_Excuse me?_

The big man took out what seems to be a black disc.

"I'm... not sure. A vinyl?" He noticed the underside of the disc is also black. But why would anyone send an irregularly sized vinyl to a gaming Youtuber? Just then the big man thought to look around the package if he could find information about the sender. None, as expected. Tyler hasn't ordered anything for the past month.

"So much for soup prices. Goodnight man, I'm too tired," shrugged the guest as he walked away, almost looking like a zombie.

"I never said you could sleep here, dumbass."

"Too late, I'm already a sheep," said the door that ate his freeloading friend, just in time for him to realize the guy went to his bedroom. He groaned in surrender as he kept eyes on the most suspicious matter at hand. A note lies inside the box.

 

* * *

 

"Just when I've given up..." the man sighed as he covered his blond hair with oversized goggles that had too many eyes in a systematic pattern.

"Welp! Guess no video for everyone tomorrow."

With metal scoops dangling by his wrists, Craig pulls in the device that warped his vision to the darkness. His head grew heavier with every passing breath. A sensation strangles at his neck while his gut revolted, wind pushing against his hair as he hauled to his feet, demanding him to do more than just pass out. But he braved his senses. It must've been the lack of sleep finally delivering its punishment, he thought. After what seemed to be hours of just pure darkness, something flicked in front of him. His warring gaze saw 'A' and 'r' before it vanished along with the darkness, and in the long seconds of recovering, the Brit realized the game must have loaded.

"Whoa," Craig peered into the immeasurable horizon, "I see fucking nothing!"

Kneels charged for the barren ground, another gift of punishment from his body. His throat choked with rotten stench back and forth into his stomach.

_Shit._

Craig yanked on the device that wasn't on his head as he made a beeline through the washroom, but that never happened as he furiously pulled on his hair. Panic stunts further at his throat while he hurriedly struck palms to his face. It was his face he was hitting. He couldn't feel the headset - the very thing that brought him inside the empty game. Thoughts implode forth a gush of bile over the dirt, humiliation and tears pouring out of the tired soul's eyes as his gut mangled even more of the liquid, a crunching moan that finalized his hopeless state.

As soon as he recovered, he escaped from the acidic mud that poisoned what little strength he had left. Running towards nowhere gave his mind enough time to properly assess the weirdest situation before him. He still hasn't hit a wall, he could see his own arms, and he could feel wind pushing against his skin. Mist had enveloped him, painless darts from the sky soaking his self-branded hoodie.

_How am I gonna get out? Am I still in a game?_

A silhouette traced behind the fog as Craig panted for breath, a sliver of hope surging back inside the man's lonely journey.

"Hello?!" his futile signal echoed, but that didn't stop him from calling out for more as his words creatively evolved.

"Hey, wanna fuck?! I'm so cold here!"

No response, only fitting for the silhouette that grew beyond the size of a human. The mist cleared around, revealing an unfinished body of a high-rise adorned with crimson, and it wasn't the only one. Hopefully some shelter from the numbing wind. Maybe he'll find something inside. The sky had been crying more and more, its faint slicking a little unusual for the ears. Craig's bare feet slopped over the platform beneath the dusty edifice, his ears feeling betrayed for every pause, an excessive thud as bulky arms stressed over the sliding door.

First thing Craig saw was a wide desk that arched towards the right, an idea for his next gamble. He started for the corridor, his back gauging what purposed the building. That train of thought suspended when raindrops splashed louder, that shouldn't be right. Each step grows wider, omen of uncertainty trafficking his questions. Something loud slammed on the dirt outside. Craig tried to look from the crooked windows. The mist had grown too thick, but an elongated shadow was enough for Craig to reassure himself. He didn't want to accept it, but his body was beginning to shiver dead cold. There was also something his tongue tried to tell him, but he wasn't sure what it was.

A door barred his tracks, darting pupils that snapped the Brit out of his thoughts. The dusky corridor had expanded into an area full of cubicles, windows to the west Craig both wanted to look outside and to run away from, that he didn't quite understand. He gave a quick glance as his only path led him to the staircase near the windows. The only thing he saw was his breath. Nothing down here. One tier and shatters stormed the room, the loudest beat in Craig's heart pushing a charge to the farthest of his unknown destination. The reluctant wanderer had wished his back had an eye.

Craig's body begged for respite as fatigue caught up, a temptation of the edging silence. Place just might be too feeble for the strong wind. But where is the wind coming from? Back sliding down the baseboard of the wall, he forces out series of subdued breaths, urging odd gags from a nasty taste. A long bout of air before he went back to walking aimlessly through the building. There were no more of the sounds, but rotting filth confused the Brit between reality and fabrication. He convinced himself of the fact that he's still in a virtual reality, putrid memories reeking in.

Brisk thuds spidered from beneath. Craig skitters by the wall turned hustling as the noise came back, a nagging sensation tugging at his heart. The building trembled, steel beams croaking like banshees as the looming threat moved louder and faster. Craig headed wherever his path took him so long as it dragged him further from the noise, his head was too full just keeping it in check.

Another flight of stairs, but going downwards meant contesting the distance he so tried to maintain. Craig risked through the steps, tripping himself nearly all the time he jumped for the rush. Body stiffening. Senses tightening, his legs feeling like dead weight. A furious rumble from behind screeched the floor of what seemed like a cluster of steel feet had been toppled down the concrete. The wind wasn't strong enough to do that, Craig easily knew, griping uncertainty replaced with the worst alternative. Something else is here. He wasn't alone. Judging by the sound, Craig realized it had been trying to close in from the start, whatever it was.

A hollow slam. Craig wanted to look back, but his feet kept moving on its own. The loud clangs and scratches from outside made it difficult to know if he was still being stalked. A cavity in the ceiling instantly blew dark as soon as light came back, Craig's eyes alarmed as he passed by the rubble. What the fuck just happened? If it wasn't for the sharp chill, he found himself emerging from a door to an open area of the building. A courtyard, he hurriedly concludes, slamming the door in hopes of obstructing it, awfully slipping over the muddy sludge as he rushed his way to the other side where an empty doorway awaits. Another large bang, it was growing dangerously close to Craig, forgetting all fatigue and icy hot breaths shorter and tighter as did the predator's distance. His pupils strayed everywhere pray heavens a reprieve that could spare his mortality from the terror.

Inside the other building paraded several doors, Craig unable to decide amidst the crisis, soon enough his body found itself in a room with a file of windows on the other side. It was another office, cubicles plenty of possible hiding spots with none the assurance of his safety. It was almost as if the building was filled with sewer rats' flesh being barbecued, a full course of rancid heap violating his nostrils. Foul odor only grew intense with every hurried examining of the room. Another loud screech. It's gone way too close, Craig determined must have come from the courtyard. Then a sudden bang, undoubtedly beyond the office door. With arms braced over his face, it was all or nothing now. Craig blasted through the windows, a glimpse of the haunting abomination as he bashed to a roll over the quagmire.

Craig, stood and raced, the creature ripped out the nastiest shrills and snared a tightening grip at his chest. Heat flooded beneath Craig as he stumbles for god knows where, bellows piercing his ears as the ground thrashed toward him. Then it dawned on him the direst of the scenarios-- he had just lost his glasses to the thick fog. Screaming was all he wanted to do, but deep inside knew it meant accepting defeat. Or death? Whatever the consequences, he did not want to challenge. Craig was holding on to the fiend's wails for dear life- it was his last resort in escaping it.

No matter the distance he made, no matter the persistence, needles puncture him wherever he went, it was only a matter of time until the horror locks him down. Before he realized it, a massive shadow laid beneath him, wind blasting his face as he trundled down the pit. Tired muscles, sudden heat in his face and needles on his feet, Craig willed all his remaining strength to wriggle his way forward. Violent hammers struck from the ground above, smothering dirt on the human's back. Where am I? Am I underground? The gap must have been too small for the roaring beast, the crushing weight off Craig's back while he figured his blindness through the chasm.

 

* * *

 

Odd hours past of groveling on the nasty grime, Craig heard faint noises from the other side. Shit, can it enter from there? But there were still loud banging noises from above. This must be the other one, he feared. He couldn't run away now, with all the pain cursing at him and all the blood he's lost. The deeper he went, the darker it got until losing his glasses no longer made a difference. Craig readjusted himself as he carried his heavy body forward, lying his back on the wall while he used it and his hands to propel himself bit by bit. Omen crept closer to him, his hands pushing faster as he tried to feel his way for another direction until that option finally presented itself, his back falling over.

He turned, changing course for the new path, but he was really losing his strength. Craig wanted to pass out now, to give up.

_No._

Inhale. Exhale. Mini took deep breaths before resuming his way for a safer spot, however faster the sound closed in. And then it stopped. He mimicked the action, assuming the creature was tracking him through the sounds he made. A low groan. It was oddly disturbing, Mini slipped as he splurged over the mud, trapping his right arm in the process and making a strangled noise. The creature made a sound again, mud slinking forward to his new direction as Mini steeled on his jagged feet. Mini made a run for it as his eyes drizzled with agony. Yet it felt like it made no difference.

Wasn't he running fast enough? Why wasn't it working, despite all this torture? Then he realized something wet was slowing him down from the bottom half, probably from the unending rain. And from the blurry looks of it, it was glowing. And from the sound of it, the creature was right behind him. Mini moved a leg when something heavy landed on his shoulder, him bolting out in surprise as he tried to resist the force that budged him to turn around, twisting his body halfway through. Even though he couldn't see, Mini's eyes felt like they were being blinded. Then a voice echoed his name. Strained and oddly slick, it was a voice threateningly familiar.

_What?_

Primal instincts now a hold on his body, Mini flailed his arms around in hopes of escaping the creature that tried to imitate a voice of his precious family. If this was the impossible game he tried to search years for, it's likely that whoever made it twisted his wishes just like in the movies, a description he thought was perfect for the disaster before him. He then tried to push himself out of reach, but not before huge vines had strangled his arm.

"Craig," the voice cried, sounding almost as terrified as Mini, "is that you?!" Mini wondered if he still looked human with all the mud and blood that's covered him. If he was going to die here now, might as well accept the illusion before him.

"It _is_ you! Shit-" Craig gave in to the strong vines that suddenly had him in its tightening clutches, his stomach swirling in the face of death... is wiping his face?

"You're a fucking mess," the Brit opened his blind eyes to the blur who kept him arrested, fixating on the urge to speak over the clog in his lungs.

"Ty... Tyler?" he spoke, trying a name that matched the voice, a curse he thought he heard mumble beneath the tatters of his soot-stained garment.

"... One and only."

_Is this a dream? Oh yeah, that never occurred to me._

A soft block dug further between his now less dirty scalp, as if the blunt edge of a tool tried to drill impossibly on his cranium, a foreign sensation wrestling with the smell of the soil he's grown to be accustomed with. The assailant hummed vibrations through his hoodie, what it took to drive the last drop of adrenaline out of Craig's system.

Vines-- long fingers nuzzled through the hair on Craig's back. An arm that had hooked on his back pulled him closer when he thought couldn't, finding himself squirming deeper in the unexpected cushion of warmth. If a symbol of comfort is here, then that must mean the nightmare will end anytime now, right? But why Tyler? The more he thought of the large man before him, the more he felt Tyler's trembles wilder than the ground above them. He almost forgot.

"Tyler," the Brit quivered, returning the embrace with dying arms, "I can't see."

"I can see _that_ , dumbass," nice to see the brink of death hasn't doused his vulgarity, Craig chuckled. Tyler hoped it would cover his fear. And maybe to keep his friend distracted.

"Are you okay?" There were so many other questions he rather would've asked.

"Surely better than you, damn bloodstains everywhere," that gave him a cold sweat. "Craig, why are you here?"

"Wha- does it matter?"

"What?"

"It'll be over soon... right?" Craig was already past giving up.

"It's a dream," Craig exclaimed with temper as his arms lashed out of the man's embrace. Daggers were boring through his temples where Tyler had pressed large thumbs on the open gash, packed with a message to prove.

**"FUCK OFF, YOU DICK!"**

"Still a dream, you son of a-" Tyler tried to question before they heard the ground moving in, the crevasse behind them shedding water streams and light from the surface. Tyler froze his eyes upon Craig, forcing clashing gears in his head to break a solution that would get both of them away from the landslide.

"Craig, don't let go," he nodded, Tyler's hand gripping the blind man's while the other a flashlight from his phone.

Spluttering their way through miles of burdening water, Tyler eventually brought themselves to a staircase that led outside just before mud boulders closed it in.

"Alright, we're outside," Tyler quietly cheered, but Craig's tremors had dismantled the taller man's newfound optimism, "shit. Now where?"

"Where..?" Almost incoherent.

"You mean the icky shit full of eyes and holes that's too big to be a dog? Still stuck down there, hopefully."

_"Huh?"_

 

* * *

 

The storm weighed down around the pair with icy grey darkness, having trudged their way to nowhere, loud wind blasting from a direction and then another. Tyler hadn't changed his route ever since they got away, mind too focused on keeping the distance from the monster. He wasn't even sure if they were still in that sad attempt of a city, no giant shadows nearby lest a sidestep on their singularity. An agonizing whimper cleaved the silencing rain, the sound having been trapped within the liquid prison.

"Craig?" He looked to the gritting man with the strongest effort his neck could shift, not relenting in their tracks.

Craig's throat was convulsing, as if the man tried to force an object he couldn't expel. He had been making faint sniffles from the start, but Tyler couldn't bring himself to look at the injured if it meant getting distracted from the threat. The sound Craig had made just now, one the older man couldn't ignore.

"Shit, what's wrong?" The man's heart swelled. He badly needed to check on Craig, to just lay down and give the poor soul the rest that he needs. There were, however, no signs of anything that would cover them from the rain, and the wind just keeps on getting louder and stronger.

...

_Okay, just once! I need to be quick, fuck._

Tyler stopped, Craig having bumped onto him and tumble down the ground, but his body didn't even budge the big man. Firm hands gripped on the Brit's tender shoulders and forced movements, a flat voice that made him sit on the mud. Tyler hurriedly examined the patient with quick twists and glances until he found his way to the bottom. Shards of glass bored too deep into Craig's crimson feet, an indescribable horror summoned onto the American's expression. Wind stormed with deafening wails, clearing out the gloomy weather in exchange for an ambush.

Arms mindlessly curled around the heavy lad's torso as Tyler brought him against his chest, his feet feeling like they would snap. Craig is easily the jock if anyone were to compare the two of them. But none of that matters to him right now, arms gripped on the astonished lad, feet having stomped from the beast that hovered in the foreboding rain.

"Tyler," a wincing mumble, "leave me," almost inaudible in the tempest. The swamped dirt is shaking, and the imbalance in their combined weight make it impossible for Tyler to outrun the raptor, it would be most logical to drop Craig and abandon him. This way, at least one of them will get out alive. And if Tyler was being honest with himself, a speck in his conscience egged him to be rational. 'Stop caring for your friend, it wouldn't matter if you're both dead,' or something like that.

 **"FUCK OFF!!!"** Yet his feet twigged onward, ignoring the devil's demands and the Mini Ladd in Craig as he begged for the impossible to be the truth. The ground beneath them continued to tremble while the raptor loomed behind him. Razor sharp fangs bared, barely sliding on Tyler's shoulders when dirt erupted like a geyser. Bellows thundered, a dreadful beast emerging from the crater, knocking the humans off their feet as they spun down the fresh hill. Now two gargantuan predators roared in a two-pronged assault.

" **CRAIG!!!** " A futile sob, the raptor propelling dust on the ground as it barred the hopeless man from Tyler. His body froze, the sight of his long-time friend, pleading his name in the face of imminent death as the raptor and the fiend prepared to feast on their prey. A reflection in the fiend's eye, and all of a sudden Tyler's body flung itself below the raptor's open space, snatching Craig from a lethal maw just in the nick of time. Tyler's escape route has finally changed directions, adrenaline kicking in the fullest, oblivious of all the massive gashes he received in the pandemonium.

"Tyler?!" squealed Craig, hands suddenly locked on the big man's. Unconsciously, he moved with his own two feet again, jagged crystals only digging deeper than they already have.

"Tyler, just let me go! _Please!_ It's impossible for me to survive, we both know that!"

" **SHUT UP!** " The big man roared, eyes with newfound focus towards a curious direction. If he was being even more honest with himself, Tyler will always choose to get himself killed if it meant saving his dear friend.

Two earthquakes thundering towards the humans' death, a second speck of glow on one of the monster's face. The raptor squirmed, its massive head twisting inhumanely as it fell behind on its pursuit.

A faint noise echoed through the rain. The quadruped fiend charged with full might at the humans, a massive halo of smoke suddenly parrying the monstrosity to the ground in overwhelming repulsion.

 _"Hey--!"_ Tyler felt themselves getting closer to the noise in the chaotic violence of the fog, the storm, and the abominations. Another sharp cry, Tyler had memorized came from the raptor that he figured looks like an owl transmuted with molten heaps of flesh.

 _"HURRY!!"_ The Brit shot in surprise, bundles of hope reviving inside the humans' weary souls.

"Was that..?!"

"It sounds hu-" hung the American, a glimpse on the lad with bared teeth, "Craig, just a little more..!"

The ground and the sky had revolted once more, gruesome omen blasted in paralyzing waves. Planting crimson steps with the greatest effort on a tiny slope, Tyler and Craig rose to the front of a small building that had a line of black metal peeking through the window, a slim figure veiled in the shadows.

 **"COME IN, QUICK!"** the voice blared, a mild yet distinct Southern accent. The pair rapidly twisted to the east as they slammed the door, a pair of massive voids that could engulf the entire house creeping in.

"Hope this works-!" At the cock of steel, Tyler's gaze shifts towards another length of black that angled to the ground. A deafening explosion, and when his eyes blinked out, the outside bloomed with thickets of hollow needles that stretched beyond the thick of the mist. Its unlimited reflection of the writhing horrors glistened, the blackest ink swallowing the transparencies in a coil of howling salvation. Tyler wished Craig had seen the unbelievable, the stranger who unleashed a mystery knocked deep to the ground with a spurt of red. Silence had gracefully floored the survivors from the worst of the long storm.

"What was that?" asked Tyler, who still hasn't let go of his blind friend, relentless shuddering of his body no matter how hard he stopped it. The hooded savior before him grunted in pain. Faint glows caught his tired eyes towards a circle printed on the stranger's relaxed palm.

"Dunno man," he replied as he turned to his visitors, finally revealing himself to Tyler. A slim man with a somewhat tanned complexion, ruffled tufts of dark hair, faceless before his blurring eyes. Soon he realized the stranger had been digging eyes at him.

"Huh?" Craig pitched in confusion. Tyler wondered what that meant, but pressed on the man's gaze instead.

" **TYLER?!"** His eyes grew heavy, déjà vu threading knots at the sound of his name. **"MINI?!"**

"Do we know you?" His breath wavered. What the man heard were mumbles of gibberish.

He thought he heard Craig speak, grazing warmth having nestled on his grisly carved shoulders.

"Dude..." time skipped a tick, "...me! Del..." drowned the stranger's whispers in the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I did well on my first horror-ish bit xD  
> Please tell me in the comments if a tag needs to be added for this chapter. Thank you! :)


End file.
